Unforgivable Basorexia
by osnapzitsIRENE
Summary: It wasn't meant to be. She was to go to somewhere safe and wait out the war. But she didn't expect to get blast back to the past with nothing but her dirty clothes on and her OWL grade. Now she has to figure out how to save a future, knowing his past and overcoming the hurdles that comes with the present. HGxTR. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: My first and last disclaimer for the story. I don't own Harry Potter, seriously. If I did, I would've been filthy rich by now.**

**Author's Note:**

First off, I'd like to thank **violin10277 **for beta-ing this a long time ago.

I'm officially making major revisions to the story because I felt it was a bit of a rush and there's a lot of useless adlibs and a lot of missing bridges. I'll be deleting the previous publish version of the story, even though it kills me, because I feel it won't do justice. Also, I want to cry because I'll lose those lovely reviews that you wrote, but it is a sacrifice I'm willing to make to better this story.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW.

* * *

**Chapter: One**

**Basorexia; **_An extreme sick urged to kiss_.

* * *

**May 03, 1998**

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, Great Britain**

Hermione pushed herself up to a stand, dusting her pants and shirt in the process. Wincing, she held her left shoulder with her right hand, feeling the blood-soaked sleeves as she wobbled her way through the rubble. '_Death fucking eaters', _she inwardly cursed.

"_Scourgify._" Barely cleaning her bloodied clothes, she huffed and shrugged, trotting her way towards the Great Hall.

Just as she was about to round a corner, someone grab her forearm and jerk her from behind. Dirty hands gripped her mouth and stifled her gasp. Her back pressed roughly against the stone wall, eyes shut tight, and she struggled frantically from her captor's grasp.

"Shh, shh, Hermione it's me." The captor whispered to her, she could feel his breathe warming her cheeks. Hermione stopped, opening and adjusting her eyes to the darkness of the corner, a familiar silhouette outlining itself.

"Harry!" she hissed as she pulled the black-haired boy in a tight hug. Moving back, she eyed her friend, his school robes covered in dust and dirt, his glasses broken, and his hands gripped tightly around his phoenix wand. A distressed look hovered over his exhausted face as he watched the corridor for suspicious movement. "Where's Ron?"

She blinked, tensing under his gaze. "I don't know. We we're running from a death eater then a spell hit us and then I blacked out." She gulped, ignoring his tight grip on her shoulders. Harry curse under his breath.

"Harry?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "_Where is Ron?"_

Harry looked at her; his eyes darken at every second that passed as he pulled away from her touched. Hermione panicked, "We got to find Ron." Pushing her way through Harry's form.

"Harry move. We got to find Ron." But he didn't budge, hanging his head low. Hermione looked at him stricken, "Fucking get the hell out of the way, Potter!" she shrieked banging her fist onto him, but he didn't moved.

"I can't let you Hermione. There nothing we can do." He whispered to gritted teeth.

She couldn't believe it.

It was just mere moments ago that they were running around the castle grounds, hands entwined as they fired spell after spell to the Death Eater gaining on them. It was two against one, but she and Ron were cornered. Although Hermione knew many spells, her lack of reflexes and battle mindset made things difficult, especially with Ron's clumsiness. For the first time, Hermione Granger was in a pinch; she couldn't think straight. Getting away, keeping safe, making Ron safe, and fending off the enemy was too much for her to handle. She even fleetingly thought of patting herself on the back for keeping a hold of herself for that long.

As they turned a corner, Hermione found herself flung across the hall, letting Ron's hand slip from her fingers. She felt her back make contact on the stone floor and her head slam on a pile of rubber before losing consciousness.

Now she was awake, with her forehead bleeding from a cut, her forearm aching from a curse, and her body exhausted, with no Ron in sight.

Harry turned away; his hand clasped her own, as he scanned the empty hall way. "Come on." He hissed pulling her with him.

"Where are we—", she stopped herself in mid sentence and stared at the familiar doors leading towards the Headmaster's office.

Stopping at the foot of the eagle statue, muttering the password _Hogwarts_, they hurried to enter the headmaster's office. Harry muttered a locking charm as he closed the door behind him. Hermione stumbled back, steadying herself as she scanned the once glorious office of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Ever since his death, it had been left untouched. Those silly trinkets he kept still laid in display, dust accumulating, and evidence that no one had dared touch to his things.

Picture frames that held previous headmasters of Hogwarts hung empty against the walls and oddly enough, Hermione missed their senile chatters and bickers. Hermione glanced at Harry who was busy doing merlin-knows-what. Letting him be, she stared back at the empty frames, noting the names of the previous headmasters. At the end frame, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Albus' portrait—occupied, apparently—gleaming at her with his usual twinkle.

Hermione hated it, him.

She glared at him. The moment she laid her honey-colored eyes on him, she felt a hollow darkness growing inside her.

All those years of fighting, suffering, and witnessing death, Hermione blamed it only on one man—not Voldemort, _definitely _not him. No. She blamed her ill sentiments to the man, whose portrait hung proudly in front of her.

Hermione balled her fist in frustration. She has been a fool. Ironically, Malfoy was _right. _Hermione was stupid, naïve to think that the manipulative twinkling-eyed bastard did what he did for the 'greater good'.

She gritted her teeth, fighting the beautiful muggle foul language threatening to leave her bruised, cut lips.

She tore her gaze from the portrait and stared blankly at the frantic boy who was busy taking things from the headmaster's office and stuffing it into her beaded bag.

She eyed him. He gleamed with determination, courage, and pride like a true son of Gryffindor; it made Hermione proud to be his best friend.

Harry had suffered so much. His parents were dead, he didn't even know them, had never seen them or talked to them. She couldn't understand why Dumbledore had done it. He could have kept Harry, trained him to better prepare him for the war he was destined fight. But no, he didn't. He gave him to muggles who did not _bloody_ feed him him properly.

And as if that wasn't enough; he had to place Harry, barely eleven at that time, to face a dark lord, who haunted the wizarding world for 50 _damn _years, then lead him to face the Basilisk back in their second year. He would have died if it wasn't for Hermione's help. Even so, it was supposed to be _his _responsibility, not some puberty-phased children who lacked the better sense of what was dangerous or not.

But then again, Albus and all adult living wizards should have known better than to place their hopes on one boy.

She felt wet tears sliding down her cheeks and slowly she succumbed to quiet sobs.

Hermione couldn't believe it. _We_ _are going die._ A pitiful, wasteful, and useless death.

Harry stopped abruptly, startled as he observed her. The level-headed, proud Gryffindor princess, who paraded herself in front of purebloods with a triumphant smirk whenever she had bested them at Hogwarts, had finally crumbled. Her cool composure washed away as the realization of their dire situation finally settled in.

Harry felt the familiar wave of guilt overwhelm him. He dropped the beaded bag beside him, and gently approached the girl, embracing her.

"Hermione." He muttered into her ears in a whisper, tightening his grip around her. Her knees quivered, leaning her weight into his body as she held onto him for dear life.

"This is my entire fault."

She pulled back, wiping the tears away as she looked at him in pure disbelief and sadness.

"You're wrong!" she explained, shaking her head furiously. "Harry, it is not your fault." She held his both his hands gently into hers as she looked deep into his eyes. "In fact…" she trailed her eyes away from him, glaring at their previous headmaster's portrait. "… it's that son-of-a-bitch's fault." She spat with much venom, as she glared at him.

Pushing her away, he shook his head in disdain. "What are you saying?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "How could you accuse Dumbledore, who has protected us all this years?!"

"What do you mean 'protected us'? Harry, he was the only person who could stop Voldemort but look what he did? The crazy bastard killed himself!" She glared at him, her hands trembling at her side. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Come on, Harry. Like you didn't doubt it for a second." She stared at him, crossing her arms.

"Listen to yourself, Hermione. You're just thinking stuff that doesn't make sense. We were invaded by death eaters because of Malfoy and Snape killed him! The same person, Dumbledore trusted."

"Are you listening to yourself, Harry? Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard that ever lived next to Merlin. How could a mere potion master kill a grand sorcerer, Harry? How! Dumbledore can take ten death eaters down without as much as a scratch on him."

"Bullshit." Harry glared at her, "Dumbledore is not invincible, Hermione."

Hermione, sighed. "But he was powerful enough, Harry."

"You know, he has a very weird sense of '_greater good_'." Hermione muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, with her hands up making air quotations.

"Hermione, we're Gryffindors for merlin's sake! Even if you think Dumbledore is a manipulative bastard—as you so quote," Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "... it doesn't change the fact that stopping Voldemort is something not me but all of us should do." Harry explained as he started stuffing things inside her beaded bag again.

Hermione glared at him, as she snatched her beaded bag from his hands roughly. He startled from the sudden movement and looked at her perplexed.

"Will you stop stuffing things in my purse!" she huffed, slapping his hands as he tried to reach and grab it back. "What the bloody hell are you packing things for anyway?"

"I'm sending you to Beauxbatons," Harry said, grabbing a weird trinket Dumbledore displayed on one of his bookshelves. "I heard, Voldemort has no plans in overtaking the French Ministry **yet**, for the next 30 years or so."

Hermione looked at him, astonished. "You can't seriously be thinking this." He shrugged in response, ignoring Hermione who slumped back into one of the leather chairs, her mind lost in thought.

She stared back at him, he was checking some vial in Dumbledore's personal potion cupboard. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head, wishing she could read his mind. She always wondered why Harry was so hell-bent on killing his arch-nemesis. Besides the fact he was prophesied to and the fact that he was the one who killed Harry's parents, the war was officially over when Voldemort took full control of Hogwarts. In the end, the dark side had won.

Hermione knew how bad Voldemort was, but looking it at a new perspective; they lost the war and Harry, her, and other Order members (who survived and were in hiding) were at the top of Voldemort's death list. Shouldn't they have been trying to hide? Laying low for the mean time?

No.

But Harry was intent on killing Voldemort, going as far as begging the French Ministry to lend him some Aurors.

It's not that Hermione was giving up, in fact she wanted nothing more than to go back to a world where Voldemort didn't exist. But both her and Harry were inexperienced compared to Voldemort's fifty-seven years of dark arts and battle-exposure. In a duel, Voldemort would most certainly kill both of them.

Alas, Hermione was tired, emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. She wanted to go back to being a muggle, escaped the Wizarding World for a change, but there was nothing left for her. Her parents were dead. Now all she had was Harry.

Harry was the only reason that Hermione was doing her best to survive. Harry was the only person she had left. But no matter how many persuasions she threw at him, he refused to budge.

Personally, Hermione believe Harry was hell-bent on killing Voldemort because he was the reason he had to suffer maltreatment during his first 11 years of his life. Killing Voldemort was his personal revenge.

She knew Voldemort more so than Harry. She wasn't a Horcrux or anything—Merlin, no! But because she just knew. She knew how Voldemort's mind worked. How he came to decide the choices he made or things he did. Because in some ironic ways, Voldemort was as intelligent, ambitious, and curious as Hermione was and that reason made her have the right to keep her case.

She knew Voldemort wasn't really aiming to be the anti-muggle supremacist. No. Voldemort's mind ran deeper than shallow ambitions. He wanted something grand, something he believed he was worthy of. He wanted to be the most powerful Wizard of all time.

And more so, his beliefs strengthened when he learned that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir.

Voldemort's thirst for power grew in his time as a student, his belief that knowledge was power made Voldemort desperate to learn everything. To Tom Riddle, there was no such thing as good and bad magic. His favourite saying was, "There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it."

But as the Wizarding world grew, Tom aged more. And the truth is, no matter how much Voldemort read books, his life was too short. It scared him. He thought that by the time society acknowledged him, death would claim him and everything he had learned and accumulated would turn to waste. Voldemort dreaded it. That's why he was so obsessed with immortality.

Thinking about it, Voldemort, in a more human perspective, just wanted to belong, to fit in, to be recognized. He was deprived most of his life and that fueled his ambition. Voldemort reminded her of herself. Always trying to fit in, to belong, and to be recognized.

The whole _mudblood _cover-up was a merely a means to achieve an end. Purebloods were his stepping stone to power.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Harry approaching her holding two letters in his hands.

She arched her brow at him. "Here," he said, handing her a piece of parchment. "It's your O.W.L's result. When you get there, ask for Madam Maxime. She will help you."

"I'm not going to that French Academy while you are doing Merlin-knows-what." She huffed, trying to shove back the parchments into Harry's hands.

"You are! Voldemort already has a hold on Durmstrang and Beauxbatons is the safest place I know. They have a special _Fidelius Charm_, neither magic nor muggles can find it." He look at her, clasping her hands in his, "I need you safe and sound."

She slumped back on her chair, looking distressed. She understood Harry's need for her safety. Hermione was the only thing he has left. But Hermione wasn't the type to sit still and watch. She made things happen.

"I'm not going." She said defiantly.

"You are."

Harry looked at her as if he was making her promise to him. Hermione couldn't let him down. She nodded her head hesitantly and Harry squeezed her hand in return.

A sound of stone rattling startled both of them. A bead of sweat fell from Hermione's forehead and Harry absently mindedly gulped.

Shoving the beaded purse in Hermione's hands, he dragged her towards the fireplace. As Harry was frantically searching for Floo powder, Hermione's eyes darted towards the door. She jumped at the sound of a click, and slowly it swung open.

Hermione's back stiffened, she gripped her wand to her side as she stared at glaring crimson eyes. Harry stood slowly, his eyes fixed on the snake-like face with red eyes in the doorway, an evil smirk gracing its monstrous features.

"I've been looking for you." He hissed, his evil smirk grew as Harry tensed.

"Hermione, no matter what…"

Voldemort's spidery fingers gently held the Elder Wand up, pointing. "_Avada…_"

"… don't come after me."

"… _Kedavra."_

As if in slow motion, throwing black colored Floo powder, Harry pushed Hermione into a blazing black flame, swallowing her whole. Hermione's fading screams echoed through the tower as a green light sped towards Harry before everything zoomed past her.

A familiar tight squeeze feeling enveloped her before darkness claimed her.

* * *

**Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, France**

Hermione shifted her body closer to the soft, feather-filled pillow where her body embraced it. She could feel the sun grazing her skin and she sighed against the wind that blew against her back. Her eyes fluttered open slowly as she resolved to wake up after realizing sleep could no longer hold her.

She sat up and stretched her upper body, rubbing her eyes all the same. Her sleepy eyes scanned the room, the ceilings were built high with chandeliers dangling and sparkling. The windows were adorned with blue silk and purpled-laced curtains and the glass shone quite polished. The marbled white floor glistened from the light, newly waxed and mopped. She looked at her bedside table, gently cupping the glass of water before downing its contents.

She stiffened.

Her eyes blinked rapidly as her surroundings finally dawn at her. She shrieked. She heard a hurried shoe-tap, as a medi-witch appeared from behind her purple screened partition. She was a red-headed Veela.

"_Oh, c'est bien que tu es éveillé._" **Oh, it's good that you're awake**. Hermione blinked at her. Her ascent made Hermione sigh. For a fleeting moment she had thought that Voldemort had caught her. "_Attends un moment, je vais appeler la directrice pour toi._" **Wait for a moment, I shall call the Headmistress for you**.

Although Hermione didn't quite understand what she said, she could pick out some French words that she knew to know that the medi-witch was calling the Headmistress. Good thing that she had read a muggle book about learning the basic French language when she went home for Christmas the year before her parents died.

"_Oui, s'il vous plaît et merci." _**Yes, please and thank you**. She said it with her mock French accent due to constantly conversing with Fleur during her wedding.

It wasn't long when a tall, petite woman wearing blue, silk, sparkling robes stood at the foot of her posh hospital bed. She stood in a snotty and dignified way, her makeup so heavy that she looked as if she was glaring or scowling at everyone. Hermione found herself scared of the woman.

"Here, drink it." She spoke in French as she stretched out her perfectly long fingers, holding a vial filled with a red silk-like liquid. "It's a healing potion."

Hermione raised her brow, wondering if something else was mixed in it, but drank it nonetheless. She figured after all the hospitality that she was receiving, one drink couldn't hurt. It tasted sweet like cherries and syrup, so muggle.

Placing the empty vial on the side table, Hermione shifted so her back relaxed on the headboard before looking at the tall woman.

"I'm Jeanne Devvaux, Headmistress." She curtsied, both twirling her hand delicately outward as she bowed, her eyes boring at Hermione.

"Uhm… I'm Hermione Granger, I'm not very good at French." Hermione returned a curtsied, wondering what happened to Headmistress Olympe Maxime.

"English, I see." She commented in English with her French accent. "So what brought you here to _L'Académie Beauxbâtons de la Magie?"_ she asked, setting herself on the leathered chair beside Hermione's bed.

"Escaping a war." Hermione grabbed her beaded purse lying on top of her bed side table, rummaging it and giving her the letter that Harry handed her. "Here are my O.W.L results."

She felt her heart thump louder when she realized that she hadn't really read the contents of the letter, but as she watched the Headmistress reading it, she released a sigh when she saw her nod.

"I suppose the south is quite dangerous and all. But not to worry my dear, the school year has barely begun. I think you'd fit in nicely at Beauxbatons, but I'm afraid most of the students have not returned this year, in fear of Grindelwald's rising power."

Hermione blinked, holding in a gasp, "Excuse me?"

"Oh dear, you do not need to be afraid of him. He is currently in Germany. Although, the blinding glow that erupted the day we found you, we thought it was Gellert finally attacking France. That's why most parents opted to take their children out from school. But so far, Gellert has made no move," she explained in hush disbelief, waving her hand to the silly notion.

Hermione was dumbfounded, unconsciously gaping. Gellert Grindelwald? Hermione clearly remembered it. As she read _Hogwarts: A History_, he was the dark wizard who terrorized most of Europe during the 1940's and early 1950's. But the Grindelwald she knew was dead, imprisoned by Albus and killed by Voldemort.

She suddenly felt like all the air in her lungs stopped coming and she was suffocating, her hands trembled. No wonder Madam Maxime wasn't headmistress; she was thrust back fifty-ish years to the past, where Madam Maxime was not headmistress yet. And what was more, she didn't know how to get back.

She remembered that Dumbledore had warned her about meddling in time. Fifty years worth of valuable information were at her fingertips, if people knew, her life as well as the future was in grave danger. How could this be happening?

She started coughing, holding back her tears. The woman in front conjured more water to fill her glass and gave it to her. Hermione drank it whole, gasping as she quenched her thirst.

"Well, my dear, I shall be taking my leave, I have much to attend to. I'll be calling the Head girl to escort you to your new dormitories and of course, if there's anything you need, do not hesitate to ask." Hermione nodded at her.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay here in Beauxbatons," she said before disappearing from the purple-colored partition.

* * *

**Three Months After, November 1945**

Hermione was sitting in a posh seat in front of a newly varnished desk adorned with a laced tablecloth that shimmered. She shifted in her seat, pulling down her blue silk dress that was threatening to hitch up. Her back was straightened and her black stocking-covered legs were crossed as she stared at her Headmistress who was busying replying to a letter.

After giving the letter to the owl, hooting as it flew out of the window, the tall yet petite woman stared at Hermione. In the three months she had stayed in Beauxbatons, Hermione had changed. Her bushy, brown locks were tamed to stylish slick and shiny curls, a lighter shade of brown. She wore light makeup, her lips a pink shade that shined and the freckles on her face gone. Her posture was fixed like a ballerina, with her back straight and her head inclined.

Hermione's opinion of Beauxbatons hadn't changed from back in 1994 when they had arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. In the all girls school, every girl was groomed to be like a delicate lily and perfect housewife—in pureblood standards, of course. Their courses mainly consisted mostly of the Hogwarts curriculum but with the addition of etiquette, art, and music.

Beauxbatons differed much from Hogwarts; for one, there were no houses, but students were divided based upon the skill they had, like academics, arts, and sports. The library, which Hermione clearly took notice of, wasn't as varied as the one in Hogwarts. Aside from that, Beauxbatons' social areas, like the lounge, garden, sun room, tea area, and the theater were extravagantly beautiful. Even Hogwarts could not compare. Fleur was right, Beauxbatons did glitter. It was heaven for Barbies.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione snapped her attention back to her Headmistress, blinking a few times before acknowledging her with a nod.

"We have received word that Gellert is overtaking the French Ministry, and this has forced me to decide for an abrupt close to school, temporarily of course."

"But Headmistress, if you are closing the school, what will become of the students?" Hermione asked her voice a bit higher as she tried to contain her disbelief.

"A lot of them have opted to stay with their parents. I have advised them to go somewhere away from Europe. You, on the other hand, I have something to tell you, that is the reason why I've called upon." Headmistress Devvaux handed Hermione a letter with the Hogwarts seal attached.

"I have sent a letter to Headmaster Dippet as well as Professor Dumbledore about your sudden transfer to Hogwarts. I have arranged the Abraxans to transport you to Hogwarts this afternoon."

"Can I stay with you Madam?" she tried, but the Headmistress only shook her head.

"I cannot leave France as it is my dear girl and I would not allow you to be put to danger."

Hermione sat worriedly, not because she was moving away from Beauxbatons—Merlin! Beauxbatons was unbearable—but because staying in France kept her from destroying or interfering with the timeline. She gulped, deep down she also knew that Hogwarts has the best library in all of Britain, and chances of her getting back to the future were possible. But she worried. Voldemort was one of Hogwart's best students of all time, he was not dumb and innocent, he was bound to notice. And Voldemort had a very curious mind.

She clenched her acceptance letter with a tight grip with trembling hands. "_Merci_," She replied through gritted teeth, standing up and bidding farewell before leaving.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Tom Marvolo Riddle stared blankly at the book he was reading moments ago, but held it nonetheless as if he was. He was currently lounging in the Slytherin common room, the fireplace lit, and his plush seat situated in front of it. His dark green-blue eyes glistened with the crackle of fire and his angular porcelain face looked paler over its flames.

_Unforgiveables, Dark Curse, and Hexes _by Alexander Hamilton_, _titled the book but Tom couldn't concentrate. His mind kept drifting to the odd dream he had been having for the last three months. He had dreamt that the sky burst into colors of gold, orange, and red like sunset in mid day and something was falling from it, gold glitter glistened at its tail before landing on a soft pile of green grass. Images of bushy locks, long lashes, and porcelain skin were so clear to Tom, who kept wondering who the girl was.

But one thing kept nagging his mind, she had whispered his name, "_Voldemort…"_ It sounded ridiculously melodious in his ears. It hinted of sadness, fear, and angst, and the depth gave Tom's heart a loud thump. She also knew about his dark name.

Every night Tom dreamt of her and how her rosy pink lips murmured his name under the dark green grass. Her helpless and broken figure looked as if a Cruciatus curse had hit her a dozen times, and she mesmerized him

_Who is she?_ Tom Riddle wondered more.

"My Lord…" Tom snapped from his thoughts but did not look up, closing his eyes and opening it in a solemn manner; his eyes trailed the letters of words of the book he was reading. There was always an unspoken rule that threaded the line of the wrath of Riddle and no one dared cross it. Except for the black, curly-haired boy kneeling before him.

Tom stared at him; his head was bowed, not looking at Tom. Snapping his book, he watched him flinch. Looking up, he noted almost two dozen students who were still lounging in the common room, eyeing them.

"What is so much important that you have to disturb me during my reading, Lestrange?" Tom snarled in a monotone, his face in a blank and expressionless face as he stared down at the boy.

"My father has asked me if you wanted to spend the Holiday with us, we have a family vacation home at Canes and would be perfect for Christmas."

Tom eyed him. Truthfully, ever since he had known that he was the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and the Gaunt's ring was present on his ring finger, most of the pureblood parents have given him gifts, marriage proposals, and invitations for the last two years.

But doing something unproductive on vacation was the last thing on his list of priorities. Tom thought about it for a second, weighing his pros and cons, his pros outweighing his con, but of course, he contemplated. He was sure if he denied Lestrange's offer, more offers would come. Lestrange's public invitation incited others and given the next hour or so, someone would approach him to invite him too and the opportunity that someone would offer better than Lestrange wasn't good enough to pass.

"I shall think about your offer, Marcus." He replied. Tom wasn't stupid enough to reject Lestrange's offer, the Lestranges were a powerful pureblood family in Europe and it was good to have them by his side. But so were the families of Avery, Rocier, Malfoy, and most especially Black. Tom had heard Alphard and Abraxas boasting about their family homes, especially the one where they mentioned of their collections of dark books which Tom was interested to read.

Tom stood and darted towards the portrait hole, his followers stood as he did and bowed slightly as he passed by them.

As he walked back towards the Head's suite, Professor Slughorn called after him. He felt his face twitch in annoyance, it was a good thing that he was facing with his back at him. He schooled his features, pasting a pleasant and polite smile as he turned to his potions professor.

"Yes Professor? Do you need help with something?" he asked politely.

"Tom, m'boy! I've been looking all over for you." He huffed, putting his hands on Tom's shoulder, which took Tom every ounce of control to hold back swatting Slughorn's his slimy, sweat covered palms off of his Oxford white shirt.

"I was just in the Slytherin Common room, sir." He muttered, posing his blank and expressionless look.

"Oh, yes—yes. I was heading there myself. But enough about that! I have come to invite you to one of my parties the night of the last day of class before Christmas break and this time Tom; I was hoping you'd find yourself a good date." The old man smiled as if a father was encouraging his son to date. Tom faked-smiled in return.

Tom wasn't ignorant of the opposite sex. In fact, Tom had had his fair share of women in his bed, many of whom had thrown themselves on him. But Tom had slept with only five women in his life, for reasons such as marriage for investment, dark artifacts, and of course experience.

"Of course, Professor. I shall not disappoint you." He oblidged as he gently shrugged Slughorn's hands off him, and turned to leave. "Ah-! Before I forget, Tom. Headmaster Dippet asked me to tell you to accompany a transfer student from Beauxbatons' tomorrow morning, since you are a Headboy. It seems McGonnagall isn't available. I heard that she is participating on a project given by Albus."

_Her_? Of course, Tom read it in some books of a French academy, an all-girls school somewhere in France. Tom nodded to his professor before finally turning to leave. A transfer? That was unlikely, but also understandable. Tom's sources told him of Gellert's forces advancing in France. But nonetheless the sudden transfer of a student perked his interest quite a bit. Tom was looking forward for tomorrow.

Tom's perfect physique glided in a princely manner as he walks towards the main doors of Hogwarts. The news of a transferred students from Beauxbatons spread like wildfire and students were crowding the front court, waiting for the familiar Pegasus approaching the school from the morning skies. The students cheered with curious eyes, as the powder blue carriage whistled in the sky and gracefully landed on the stoned floors of the front courtyard.

The students bustled closer when the sound of the carriage door creak opened. The blue leather ballet pointed shoes stepped out of the carriage, gracefully making a stand in a fairy princess manner, her symmetrical blue dress glittering under the morning sun, her long legs covered by black stockings, standing proudly, and slender. Her hair hung loosely in soft curls, her hair a lighter shade of brown and her blue sleek, pointed hat adorning her hair. She wore simple makeup but her lips painted in blood red.

She folded her hands behind her and gently posed and waited for someone to pucker up the courage and talk to her. Tom eyed her for a moment. He could see her nervously shaking a little bit, not really noticeable. Her eyes darting slowly from left to right trying to decipher the faces of the crowd. He watched her chewed her lips and parted her curls to her back and returned back to her earlier pose.

Tom chuckled.

He didn't made a move, watching her under the scrutiny of crowd that watched her like a hawk as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Suprisingly, she reminded Tom of _Her_.

* * *

Hermione stared nervously at the crowd looking at her. She schooled her features to appear calm as she waited beside her carriage for someone to approach her and direct her or something—Although she could find her way by her own. Her hands trembled as the waning seconds passed.

On cue, a boy came marching up to her. She gaped. _Merlin..._

His long graceful stride made him look like he was walking on clouds. Hermione eyed him. He was immaculate and marbled in beauty and Hermione noted he was by far the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon. Funny, Lavender or the Parvati twins would remember him, for sure.

As he stood in front of her, Hermione could now discern that he was beyond any beauty of the gods. He exuded perfection and mystery that Hermione found herself looking at his eyes that changed color from blue to green to grey. His lips were an unnatural red, so much so that Hermione unconsciously bit her lower lip. She mentally scolded herself. _Get a grip, Hermione._

But Hermione felt quite put off, there was something she could not put her finger on. He was beautiful, mysterious and somewhat dangerous. She just couldn't help but be attracted to him. He was both charming and frightening.

She reached out her hand and smiled at him in a flirtatious manner. "_Bonjour, je m'appelle Hermione,_" she spoke, enunciating her improved accent and French. He smiled at her and Hermione could feel her heart beat louder inside her chest.

He stretched out his hand, clasping hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Hermione felt herself melt with his touch. Her fingers curled to lock with his hands and returned his gesture.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, my name is…" His voice was heavenly, like it was coated in sugar and cream. She cringed, a jolt of electricity shot through her body. Her eyes found his lips and she couldn't help but think what it would like to be kissing such a heaven-sent gift. She let out sigh.

"...Tom Riddle" Hermione's back quickly stiffened, her eyes furiously blinking, as her mouth parted slowly. She swore something flash red in his eyes for a second.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: AGAIN**, this story was written and publish before, but because I didn't like how the story develops (with missing bridges and rush up story line), I decided that it is best to rewrite and republish everything not only to make the story better but also to do justice with the story.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

**seriously.**

READ AND REVIEW.

* * *

**Chapter: Two**

**Blurred Lines**

* * *

**November, 1944**

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, Great Britain**

"...Tom Riddle" Hermione's back quickly stiffened, her eyes furiously blinking, as her mouth parted slowly. She swore something flash red in his eyes for a second.

It was like experiencing the minute before her death, everything flashed before her eyes. The long forgotten memories that she had compartmentalized and pushed back in the deepest corners of her mind over the months that she had stayed in Beauxbatons came flooding.

It took a minute for Hermione to compose herself, she looked at him, switching from fear to a disgusted look before settling with no expression at all as she snatched rudely her hands away from his grasp.

"Erm—_Vous devez être le préfet?_" **You must be the prefect?**

He charmingly smiled at her, his eyes looking intently as a defining silence enveloping them. She unconsciously fidgeted under his gaze.

In the future, she knew Voldemort was an expert Legilimens—as Harry once told her—but she wasn't sure where he had learned it or _when_. She suspected he learned it during his time in Hogwarts, it is known for its informative library and vast collection of dark art books.

Hermione studied him using the corner of her eyes. Truthfully, he was much more terrifying now than he was fifty years later. Standing there looking like a supermodel and being all silent gave Hermione shivers up and down her spine. Disgustingly, she preferred the Voldemort with the chilling hiss of a laugh than this silent, Adonis-look-a-like Tom. At least his future self was more open and straightforward, however; _this one_… the silent ones were always the most terrifying.

He abruptly turned and started walking; Hermione startled and hurriedly followed the boy in front of her as they entered Hogwarts. Undeniably, she was having a hard time catching up to his long strides, she nearly huffed in exasperation. Doing quick steps a few times whenever the distance between them grew longer. She mentally cursed him, glaring at the back of his head.

Hermione couldn't help but stiffen when she heard his name… okay, fine! Maybe she scowled and glared at him—a little. But that's because Voldemort was supposed to be ugly, demented, and evil! Not some angelic, heaven-sent Adonis. She didn't know that. Only Harry knew what Voldemort looked like in his younger years, well… Harry did mention he was indeed good-looking.

Hermione sighed. Such an understatement.

He towered over her, probably a little over 6 feet in height. His body was lean, thin but well-built, his school robes did nothing but insinuate his perfectly sculptured body. His hair was jet black, parted at the sides neatly which made his lantern jaw and high cheekbones visible. His eyes were a gorgeous blue-green with thick eyelashes that gave depth, and his lips were naturally red and very kissable.

Undeniably Gorgeous.

She mentally gagged. Hermione felt disgusted and frustrated at herself.

She was indeed _physically _attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? Tom Riddle was like a god. Not even Draco and his seem-to-be Veela features could compare to the dark lord. She often wondered how he would come to be a monster 5o-ish years later. Bald, nose-free, spidery complexion flashed inside her mind, and she cringed at it.

Maybe because of the Horcrux, tearing his soul and all or the overly expose dark magic. Ugh. Ew.

"Do you understand english?" He stopped abruptly, turning to her. She stumbled back, barely holding herself before she collided with him.

She pushes herself away from him immediately, schooling her features into calm.

"I was raised in England before I went to Beauxbatons." She replies in perfect English.

"I see." He eyes her for a second before shrugging. He started walking again, she follows after him.

"Why Beauxbatons?" He asks while walking. Hermione stares at the back of his head before answering.

"My parents—they are not too keen with the idea of _boys_." _Lie._

"So, are they on agreement with your sudden transfer here at Hogwarts?"

She hesitates for awhile, "I don't know." He stops, turning his head over his shoulder to look at her.

"They were killed before I could ask them." She continues.

He stares at her for awhile before giving out a nod and continue walking. Again, silence came.

Thankfully, it gave Hermione time to her thoughts.

Hermione's mind kept replaying the events not moments ago. His voice was velvet and silky. It was one thing about his face but boy, his voice was beyond. Everything about him invites you in… Dazzling. Er…

_Stop thinking about him._

She mentally berated herself. She sighed inwardly. Going back an hour was one thing back in her third year, it was a whole another thing going 50-ish years back. Opting to stay in Beauxbatons than going straight to Hogwarts was entirely because she didn't want to disrupt or change the time-line… and she was slowly accepting her predicament too!

But fate seemed to have a grudge on her.

Avoiding Hogwarts was impossible to say the least. Although a small part of her was glad she was back to a familiar place, she didn't like the fact that staying at Hogwarts, the possibility of a change in the future was exponentially bigger. It scared her. Dumbledore always warned her about it.

But then again, to truly think about it, the opportunities that presented itself to her were too delicious to ignore. Looking at it, tweaking a little bit of the past doesn't necessarily change much of the future.

She read about it, a compilation of essays about theories of time in the Beauxbatons' library. It wasn't really explained in detailed, but the author mentioned that in every timeline there would always be a constant variable. And Hermione knew what that variable was.

Definitely, Tom Riddle becoming Voldemort would always be the future 50-ish years after.

How he came to be Voldemort, she didn't know. In her timeline, he made Horcruxes, seven all in all. In this timeline, she wasn't sure yet.

She refocused her mind, noting the abandoned but familiar corridor. Unconsciously playing with her wand inside her dress pockets, she eyed Tom's back as he briskly walks towards the gargoyle statue at the end of the corridor.

Both of them fell to a stop in front of the gargoyle statue. He turned towards her.

"This is the headmaster's office," he said, gesturing towards the gargoyle statue. It was replaced to an eagle when Dumbledore became headmaster in the future. "Headmaster Dippet is expecting you. You are to be sorted into your house then given your schedule."

"Sorted?" she asked dumbly, schooling her features to those of curiosity.

"Each student here is sorted into four different houses namely Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, named after the four founders. How you get sorted depends solely by the Sorting Hat, how he decides that, unfortunately, I do not know," he explained as he motioned her towards the hollow space of the gargoyle as he muttered the password.

"Uhm—thank you." She called after him giving him a soft smile. _He did help her_.

He looked taken aback then politely smiled in return, "Good luck, Hermione," he muttered, smiling charmingly at her as he disappeared behind the stone wall. She could have melted—could have, if only he didn't remind her of snake-face.

* * *

Hermione knock a few times as she came face to face with the wooden doors that open towards the Headmaster's office. She heard someone muttering behind the door and awkwardly Hermione pushed it opened, peering her head through before fully going inside.

"You must be Hermione Granger from Beauxbatons?" His low, hoarse voice echoed throughout the empty room. It was surprisingly empty. There were books and some trinkets, but not as many trinkets when Dumbledore became Headmaster.

She nodded to him, bowing elegantly like how she was trained in Beauxbatons. It was customary to bow towards people as a first greeting especially towards people like school's head and professors. She looked up to him, as he was beaming at her.

"Yes, yes… shall we proceed to business?" he inquired.

Hermione eyed the Headmaster. He was exactly like how he was described in _Hogwarts: A History_. He wore the standard blue robes, his hair grey and almost bald, and feeble, his hands were shaking as he held the letter in front of him. He was also a lot like Slughorn,

She nods, "of course."

"That's good, that's good—well then, welcome to Hogwarts, before anything else, sorting to your h—"

A knock came from the door, and a young Dumbledore came in, still red in hair, his beard still a shade of auburn and both were still short in length.

Hermione didn't deny it, she had missed Dumbledore.

Aside from his manipulative self, he was still the only Headmaster and professor Hermione loved and admired. He was also the only person Voldemort feared. She guessed when he died, Hermione couldn't help but look at the mess he had created and vilified him for it.

It meant that she was simply human.

The fear Voldemort laid grew ten times more when Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy tower. It was as if the world had come to an end and three of them, Harry, Ron and Hermione struggled under the pressure, the expectations of the people that laid on them as their last hopes.

That's what drove Hermione to the corner. Why Dumbledore did it, planned his suicide, she did not know. But she blamed him all the same.

"Armando, I was dropping by to remind you of the meeting with Galatea before dinner." His voice was low and wise, just like how he was in the future. He eyed him; before he turned to Hermione. His eyes looked surprised as he finally noticed her.

Dippet eyed him through his square glasses, "Ah—yes, yes." He looked at Hermione as he stood up, "I'm sorry m'dear, but I must leave as of the moment. This here is Albus Dumbledore, you're transfiguration professor. I hope you don't mind Albus, I haven't sorted the transfer student yet, now I'm running late for a meeting." He turned to Dumbledore as he neared to the door.

"Not at all Armando," he chimed, a twinkle in his eyes as Dippet waved, disappearing behind the door.

Hermione stared at the door for a fleeting moment before turning back to Dumbledore, again she bowed towards him.

"Shall we?" He said as he motioned Hermione towards a tall empty 4 legged stool. She nodded to him, sitting at the pointed stool.

Hermione looked at him, as he placed the same tattered hat on top of her head.

"Ah, such a mind, such a mind." The sorting hat whispered to her mind. "Future, past, present, present, future, past…" he chanted, as if he was debating something unrelated.

"Can't decide, can't decide indeed."

_Just put me in Gryffindor. You put me there before._

"Patience," he hissed at her, "Time-traveler aye?" Hermione mentally snorted.

"Where to put you? Where should I? Brilliant mind, hmmm… Ravenclaw? No, no…" Her eyes search above her head, trying to balance the hat as he started fidgeting on top of her.

"Surely not Hufflepuff?… definitely not Hufflepuff. Hmmm…. Gryffindor? Possibly," he mused.

_Yes! Gryffindor!_

"But my dear, Slytherin will do you wonders." He explained.

_No, definitely not Slytherin… shouldn't you take my decision into consideration? Hey! Hey—_

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat announced after five painstaking minutes of consideration. Hermione panicked, a distressed look graced her features as Albus removed the hat from her head.

"_Stupide, vile, putain de chapeau dément!"_ she muttered under her breath as she hopped off the stool. Dumbledore eyed her as she started grumbling to herself.

"Well then, congratulations are in order." He clapped his hands to her; she tightly smiled back at him. "This here is your schedule, quite a schedule it is." She awkwardly nods back, accepting the parchment.

She scanned the list. She was retaking her sixth year. Back in her time, she didn't finish because of the attack in the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore's death plus the time when the three of them opted to drop out in search of Voldemort's last remaining Horcrux.

She was taking the usual, Advance Transfiguration, Advance Charms, Advance Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes. Given her previous O.W.L.s' results, she had the privilege of taking an additional two classes more than allowed to other students.

"Uhm—thank you." She stammered. He looked at her calculating, the twinkle of his eyes glimmering under the candle light.

An awkward silence fell, and Hermione found herself looking nervously wary in his presence.

"Ms. Granger" he started. "I know about the incident three months ago." he explained in a sly tone as he eyed Hermione.

Hermione unconsciously gulped, "I don't know what you're talking about," she stuttered slightly, as she looked away from him.

She contemplated telling Dumbledore everything, he is after all the most powerful wizard next to Merlin, surely if she told him, and he'd help her, help her get back to the future—_A future where everyone I love is dead_, she thought bitterly. She observed him for a second and often wondered.

Albus was sly and manipulative man, but if you overlook the underhanded fact, his intentions were purely good. He was essentially good.

"Professor…" she started, raking her brain for any last minute objections, "I am…" She gulped, hesitating for a moment. "I am—uhm, if I were something not meant to be." She eyed him to see if he understood her, he nodded in her direction. "that I shouldn't exist, will you kill me, to protect this realm?"

He looked at her warily, a moment's hesitation as if he was contemplating, "I will not."

"I see." Hermione nervously nodded to him, deciding not to press the issue. She still wondered why Dumbledore's opinion about her mattered. But then again, Dumbledore was the only thing she had right now.

She looked at him again, "If I told you that I came from the future, would you believe me?" she blurted, her hand shaking behind her, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

If he was surprised, he did his best to hide it, instead he beamed at her, "Then let the future be. Now shall we proceed to dinner? I heard an excellent dessert is served," showing her towards the door.

Hermione stared in disbelief, "But professor! You don't understand—"

He hushed her mid sentence, he twisted the doorknob, to open the wooden door. "Sometimes, there are things in this world that are best kept secret. It is not our place to meddle with it. If by chance we are given an opportunity to, then we must give the best of what we got." She looked at him as she proceeded to exit the room.

She looked back at him, "What if I need your help?"

"Then you know where my office is." Hermione nodded as they trotted down towards the Great Hall.

* * *

Tom Riddle sat silently at the head of the long table of their house opposite from the professor's table; watching his peers chat in hush whispers, their topic, the '_Beauxbatons girl_' as they had dubbed her.

"My cousin visited me one weekend and she wouldn't shut up about her and you know my cousin, she is rarely impressed." Tom inclined his head towards a boy whose hair, tousled and black, curled at the tip, a Vincent Avery.

"You mean, Gemma? That girl is as snobbish as her mother. It takes a lot to impress Gemma Wate." Gabriel Nott comments, raking his brown locks away from his face as he took a bite from his dinner.

"According to her, 'new girl' is actually intelligent, top of the class. Well behave and well-mannered—Very refined and obedient."

"A perfect pureblood bride." Nott finishes.

"You and your sentiments. I, for one, do take into account whether the girl has curves," an ash white blonde, Abraxas Malfoy spoke as he slid to a seat besides Avery.

"Like you care whether she has curves or not, Malfoy," Gabriel snorted as Abraxas started digging in his dinner. "You're willing to shag every person who has a cunt."

"At least, I had the decency to man up to my _manly needs_," he spat, crumbs of his toast spraying across the table. Vincent playfully slapped the back of Abraxas' head, making him choke, coughing furiously as he tried to reject the piece of meat lounging in his throat. Both Vincent and Gabriel erupted in fits of laughter as Abraxas glared at both of them, downing a glass of pumpkin juice.

Tom stared at them before turning away, tuning out their voices as they started an intense conversation about Quidditch. He found himself thinking about the new girl. She wasn't as pretty as Millicent Parkinson but she was pretty enough to walk around with. Nott mentioned she was smart, very smart. That was a bonus. She didn't lack on her assets. She wasn't stick-like in figure, but she was petite enough. He estimated she stood barely 5'5 in height.

His thoughts wandered back to the first time they met, she was beaming at him, _flirting_ even. But as soon as their hands touched, she flinched from him. Horror and angst bounced back and forth, sometimes bordering to a glare but then she settled in a stone, blank expression, talking to him through gritted teeth.

After that, she flinched at everything he did and she wouldn't look at him in the eyes.

He would be a liar if he told himself he was not surprised. She acted as if she was revolted by his mere presence and it was damn infuriating. Whenever he called her out, she stiffened and looked at him in the brink of tears, but then she'd bite back and glare at him.

Tom was puzzled by her.

"Well the student called her _Stormborn_, born from the eye of a storm, or whatever _Red Flash_ is to the French" Vincent commented in a faux French accent, snapping Tom from his reverie.

"Why call her that?" Abraxas inquired, recovering from his recent predicament.

Vincent leaned in forward, "Do you remember the _Red Flash?_"

_Red Flash _was the nickname they have dubbed towards the blinding sunset lights erupting during the mid day three months ago. "Teachers were pretty tight lipped about it. Gemma had show galleons to get to the bottom of the whole thing. No one knew where she came from or what, except she appeared right at the eye of the Flash."

Tom released an arch on his brow. So what he saw in his dreams were visions, one mystery solved. As he was starting to get lost in his thoughts, Dippet's voice echoed through the hall, taking a few seconds for the chatter to die down.

"In accordance to recent events, what with Grindelwald's troops advancing to France, our sister school has given us a wonderful addition straight from Beauxbaton's Academy of Magic, Miss Hermione Jean Granger!" he bellowed and a round of applause erupted throughout the hall.

In cue, the door burst open revealing a girl wearing the traditional Beauxbatons uniform, a one piece symmetrical silk blue dress, with a half-blue coat. Her blue, dew drop, pointed hat, sat angular on her head, her curls lying lazily on her shoulders as she lightly tapped her blue leather shoes, approaching the Headmaster. She was followed by Dumbledore.

She bowed elegantly towards the professor's table, turned and bowed again towards the students, blue butterflies erupting from under her robes.

"Yes, yes… settle down now." Dippet announced giving a few seconds before the sound died down. Tom watched her as she stood still beside the Headmaster, her back straight and elegantly, looking straight, as if her vision zoom past the faces of students.

Tom observed her more after she came in with the old coot, Dumbledore. Another mystery piled on as he questioned the relationship between her and the professor.

Well, given that Dumbledore came into the picture, Tom could speculate much that _Hermione_ was someone very important. Someone Grindelwald would go to great lengths to acquire, even to invade France and for Dumbledore to transfer her here of all schools in the world.

Tom smirked. _Hermione_. Everything about her is a mystery. The fact that she appeared out of nowhere and the Daily Prophet had zero scoop about this meant that the Ministry of Magic was involved, which means whatever she was hiding would become the biggest thing in the world.

Good thing, Tom loves puzzles.

* * *

Hermione scooted at the far end of the table away from Tom. A few Slytherin girls and a whole lot of boys threw her curious stares and she fidgeted under their gaze. Her mind drifted back towards her encounter with Dumbledore. She guessed that expecting Dumbledore to understand her predicament was a long shot.

Merlin! How could she even think that Dumbledore would understand? Not that she would even think that Dumbledore would have help. Dumbledore had always had this weird sense of 'Greater Good' and his own brand of morals and principles. Really, deep down, Hermione knew Dumbledore would not do anything unless it benefited him one way or another, but then again, what was going on inside the future Headmaster's head, Hermione didn't know.

She snap out from her thoughts when she felt someone slide in the empty seat opposite of her, Hermione looked up to find a replica of Pansy looking at her except her hair was curled into a 40's updo.

"I'm Milicent Parkinson." Her beady blue eyes bored into Hermione's brown orbs as she smiled fakely and held out her hand. Hermione awkwardly accepted hers, giving a hasty shake before retreating her hand back, "This Vivienne Greengrass…" pointing towards a dark-haired girl who looked a lot like Astoria, currently immersed in her book.

Seriously, is there suppose to be something against genetically born with the same face of your past?

"… and this is Julie Davis," she finished, indicating a girl with black, curly hair and a pale complexion sitting beside Vivienne. Hermione stiltedly smiled at them.

"So… Granger, right? Never heard of it."

"I was born with a muggle name." Millicent raised a brow at her.

"So you're a _mudblood_ then?" Her tone was cold and sharp, accusing her. Hermione blinked back the sting that came with her tongue lash. She gulped, raised her chin, straightened her back and leveled her eyes at her.

"No, of course not," she said firmly. "My father was a half-blood and my mother was a pureblood." Hermione wince as she lied. Back in her time, she could have easily and proudly said she was a muggle born, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to blend in. It was a must.

Millicent looked at her, eyeing her sharply before giving her a sly smile. "Well it is better a half-blood than a mudblood."

Hermione returned her gaze with a firm one. Crossing her arms over her chest, "Welcome to Slytherin," she chimed, smiling, a smile which Hermione doubted was welcoming. Without looking away, "Vivienne," she called out.

Vivienne look up from her book. "Why don't you show Hermione around." Millicent's request seemed more like a command and immediately, without question, Vivienne stood up and gestured Hermione to come with her. Although Hermione wanted to decline, by the distressed look Vivienne had given her, Hermione gave up and followed suit as they both exited the great hall, ignoring the blatant stares.

As they arrived in front of the entrance of the Slytherin Dungeon after many winding corridors, "Salazar" Vivienne hissed and the stone door shuffled open.

Hermione couldn't hide the surprise when she entered. The common room looked like it came from a fairy tale book. The floor was tiled in green and the couches were decorated in silver embroidery over black felt.

It was grand to say the least, cold, but fit for a king.

"So this is the Slytherin common room," Vivienne announced snapping Hermione from her thoughts. "The boys are on the right, girls on the left." Hermione nodded in understanding.

Vivienne strode towards the stairs leading towards the girl's dormitory, "Sixth year, right?" Hermione nodded. "You're dorm room is on the third floor, last door to your right. Your bed is on the far corner. Change into your school robes and meet me back in the common room," she instructed.

Hermione followed her directions towards her dorm room.

As soon as she entered, Hermione plopped herself on her bed, her face hitting on a green felted feather pillow. Slytherins did have a thing for refined furniture. The dorm rooms were very different than the ones she had seen. In her dorm alone, every bed was a canopy, made of African black wood (most expensive wood in the world), and finely carved with serpentine carvings. Her curtains were green silk with silver lace embroider till the foot of the bed, her feather pillows were of a green felt fabric and she had cotton black blankets.

She snatched a parcel off her bed and made her way towards the bathroom. The 1940's uniform was very different from her time. It was much more conservative, but insinuated femininity. Her white, long-sleeved, padded, female Oxford shirt tucked under her black pleated skirt, that hung just an inch above her knee. She wore black stockings and black shiny pumps. She wore a green stripe ribbon tied around her collar. She looked like those female airplane conductors back in the nineties.

She slipped on her black robe, with a green laced border. She did her hair using some hair spells she had learned from Beauxbatons, curling it just at the tips, parting it to the sides. She put on light makeup, making her lips a luscious red before deeming it enough.

She exited her dorm room and headed towards the common room.

Sure enough, the common room was pack by the time she had arrived. Most of the couches were occupied, especially the ones around the fireplace. Hermione's eyes darted from the somewhat familiar faces that were gracefully lounging on the couch. She spotted Vivienne standing aside a long black couch, she was motioning Hermione to come closer.

"Hermione, meet everyone." Vivienne's catty voice sounded as she gestured towards the crowd.

"That's Vincent Avery…" she said, gesturing towards the guy nearest to them. He looked up and smiled at Hermione, catching her hands and placing a kiss at the back. Hermione fought back a disgusted look that was threatening to grace her face.

"… Beside him, Gabriel Nott." She gestured to a boy who was currently immersed on his game of Wizard chess. He briefly looked up and smiled before turning back to his game,

"The one he's up against is Marcus Lestrange."

Hermione noted each person, remembering their faces, how they were seen fifty years in the future and on an old album tucked away in Dumbledore's possessions. They were the same as always, snotty and arrogant looking. Looking around, she found most of the Millicent gang huddled up in one couch reading Witch Weekly magazines and chatting in shrieking voices. _Shrieking Banshees_.

She noted in that one arm chair was faced back at them, facing the crackling flames of the fireplace. Hermione felt her heart twinge, her hand automatically clutched her chest, a throbbing pain shot through her body, and she felt like she couldn't breathe all of a sudden.

_Calm down Hermione. You've met him already. It's not like he'd kill you with everyone present_… _would he?_

Vivienne motioned for her to follow, but Hermione couldn't find it in herself to move. She felt Vivienne grip her forearm and yank her forward roughly. Hermione slightly stumbled.

Again.

Under the mere presence of Voldemort, Hermione's memories of her terrifying youth came flooding to her eyes as she held back the tears. She struggled under Vivienne's tight grasp, her fear escalating.

She noticed the room went silent, and she could feel all eyes on her.

_Oh god, please god. Help me_!

"Tom…" Vivienne started and Hermione's heart went overdrive. Before when he had escorted her, they were in the public eye, now here, they were enclosed in the four walls of the Slytherin common room, Voldemort's domain. She was like a rat, trapped in a wire cage.

Hermione felt a sudden shift in the air like everything had stopped. Tom stood up from his seat, a charming smile plastered on his face. Hermione felt herself shivere.

"Miss Granger, we meet again." His soft velvety voice slithered under her skin and she cringed at it.

She gulped. "_M-monsieur _Riddle," she stammered, looking away.

He snatched her hands from her side in a tight grip and she winced from the pain. He planted a sweet kissed at the back of her palms, not letting her go. She stiffened, fighting the urge to scramble back to the dorm room and hide for next fifty years or so.

There was a defining silence as he eyed her like hawk, everyone went still and his grip grew tighter and tighter until she let out a small gasp.

"Well, then it's quite late…" he chimed, releasing her hands from his grip. "Why don't you take a rest, Hermione. It's been a long day." _A long day indeed._

"Miss Greengrass, escort Hermione back to her room." He commanded and Vivienne was by her side. Hermione was breathing heavily as if she was catching her breath. He turned to her, his green-blue eyes sparkled, a hint of red flashing for a second.

"By the way, Miss Granger. The head of the house, Professor Slughorn asked me to be your guide tomorrow, so is 7:30 okay with you?" He questions and Hermione dazely nodded, before shuffling towards the stairs up the girl's dorm.

Tom looked at her retreating figure as she disappeared through the stairs that led towards the girl's dormitory. He let out a sighed before returning back to his chair… throne.

She was infuriating really, that girl. Again, she looked as if she was about to cry when he was near her. She quivered and fidgeted in front of him as if any minute now he'd _Crucio_ her. Although he preferred that people feared him, the extent that the girl cowered in his mere presence told Tom that she knew something about him, something that indicated that he was bad news.

Tom wondered even more what that girl knew.

That's why he ordered his knights to watch her, especially ordered annoying Parkinson to befriend her even though she had clearly refused. But when Tom ordered, everyone followed. Afraid she'd be at the end of his wand, Millicent grudgingly did as asked.

When he met her again in the common room, he eyed her cautiously. Her repulsion wasn't more evident to others than him, although she flinched and fleetingly displayed disgust with his circle of 'friends'. She was subtle and civilized. But when she came face to face with him, she cowered, quivered, and stumbled in angst.

Although she was pathetic, in a way, for some insane reason, Tom found her beautiful.

Yes, she was indeed beautiful in her broken stature.

She was as fragile as she was soft; when he gave her a little scare, a shiver went up to his spine. He loved it.

_Hmmm… _he wondered what tomorrow might be.

Something interesting perhaps?

Well, he was looking forward to it.

* * *

sadist much Tom?

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**A little reminder:** AGAIN, I republish this story. So please, don't refrain from repeating the same questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Yes, I did change my pen name.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW.

* * *

**Chapter: Three**

**Trap**

* * *

_With closed eyes, her naked body shivered. his fingers piano tapped, tracing her spine up to her neck joint. His other hands lightly caressed her sides, she arched her back towards him. Her hands cupped the sides of his cheeks, her nose touching his sweating forehead, as he kissed the crook of her neck._

_She moaned, gripping the sheets of the bed._

_It was so hot, steamy hot. She could see her breath in the air as she exhaled._

_Leaving butterfly kisses, he gave a quick deep kips on her bruising lips before he went down to kiss the hollow of her chest._

_She sighed, her fingers lingered and lost in his tousled, half-damp hair. His gave a slow lick at the side of her breast and she moaned breathlessly._

_She gasped when he roughly nudged his knee on her centre, snickering when she tugged on his hair. He slid his fingers over both of her wrists and pinned them above her head, his other hand tracing her bottom lip._

_She opened her eyes, her vision blurred and confused. She blinked, adjusting her eyes. She could feel him looking at her, smirking even. But she was too intoxicated by his scent, confused and in a state of stupor._

"_Hermione…" he whispered her name and her body shook._

_Then, lightning pain shot through her body, her breath caught as she gasped, feeling a cold, steel, iron driving into her body. She focused and she stiffened. The familiar face sneered at her as he gave her another stab at the sides and she let out a gasp. Red eyes glowered at her._

"_Stop… it… " she begged, reaching out to push him away, but he only snickered at her as he proceeded to give her another stab at her shoulders before retrieving his wand. Her arms went limp on her sides. She could feel cold death crawling under her skin as she fought on to stay awake._

"_Please… Tom…" she begged again, but he only looked at her, disgusted, before bringing up his wand and pointing it at her. She looked at him, feeling a tear slide from her eyes. His lips moved._

"_Avada…"_

* * *

Hermione woke screaming, beaded sweat trickling down the side of her cold, pale face, staring frantically at the wooden ceiling of her canopy bed.

She lay there, unmoving. Feeling the rhythm of her heart go into a slow pace and her breathing even. She waited for a moment, using her hearing senses, trying to find out if someone had noticed. Thankfully, the light snore of her roommates echoed in the room, indicating that everyone was still asleep.

She groaned, ungracefully kicking her blankets off as she peered at the drawn curtains, noting the early rise of dawn before trotting her way towards the bathroom to take a long shower.

As soon as the water hit her face, she let out a sigh, her thoughts wandering off back to her recent 'nightmare'.

"Tom Riddle…" she mouthed, unconsciously licking her lips. Even in her sleep, he continued to both enamor and haunt her, grudgingly admitting that her thoughts were currently occupied by him. Recalling yesterday's event, she quivered, feeling the fear she had felt back when she was surrounded by 'them'.

_THEM._

Cold, _insane,_ mindless freaks that followed Riddle's every word. This was how much Riddle's power is. He was not even his charming self around them. He was the silent, egomaniac who loved to _Crucio_ anyone he had come to hate. Or so, as I see it.

She whimpered, remembering how Bellatrix had tortured her, carving the word _Mudblood_ on her forearm with her wand as she laughed like it was most fun thing in the world. Bellatrix was Voldemort's most loyal servant. But no matter how painful and traumatic her experience was, it was nothing compared to this.

She was practically thrown in a den of hungry, poisonous snakes and **Tom** was the king cobra of them all.

**Tom Riddle**.

Her problem couldn't get any bigger than it already had. Thrown back 50-ish years in time, trying to survive this ridiculous world and keeping the secret from the most blood-thirsty devil in the world… it was really too much. She shivered. What would Tom do if he found out that she knew what would happen for next 50 years? He'd do anything for it; kill, murder and skin her alive.

She is in a pinch; a tight spot where she couldn't get away.

She racks her brains for answers. Seconds and minutes pass by and nothing came up, only frustrations, irritations, and blank.

What is she going to do? Sooner or later, Riddle will find out. She knows he'll break her and there's a little left of what's holding together. If the devil gets what he wants, then there's nothing left to stop him. If only she had the strength.

She sighed, closed the tap and exited the shower. Casting a drying spell on her hair and fixing it in a low-do before donning her school uniform and robes. She quickly made it to her bed grabbing her bag, wand, and some books before going down to the common room.

Hermione found Riddle lounging in his chair, currently engrossed in his book, his hair well-kept, his uniform, neatly pressed and clean. She coughed and he snapped his book shut to look up to her.

Hermione immediately looked away, staring at the ornament on top of a table. Peering at him from the corner of her eyes, she found him still staring at her, eyeing her in a calculative manner before standing up and sauntering towards her.

Coming to a stop in front of her, she straightens her back and gulped. "_Bonjour, Monsieur Riddle. _How's your morning?" she asked.

He smiled at her charmingly, "Lovely." She briefly looked up at him and gave him a quick smile before turning away again. "Let me see your schedule." She handed the neatly folded small piece of parchment to him which he immediately read.

"It is quite surprising for someone to take more courses than required," he commented. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not every person is as idiotic as you think they are," she replied, staring stoically at him. He calculated her for a second, "Yes, you're right. One must not underestimate the other." Smirking

"Shall we?" he ask, giving out his hands and taking her books and bag, exiting the common room with Hermione following behind.

* * *

Hermione stared at her bowl of cereal, her hands playing inanely with her spoon as she breathed out a sighed. After coming to breakfast together with Adonis-reincarnate, she was forced to sit next to him and his circle of friends.

Looking opposite her, Gabriel Nott was immersed in a conversation with Abraxas Malfoy about Quidditch and their upcoming game with the Hufflepuff, to which Hermione quickly ignored, having had enough it in the future way back with Harry and Ron. She turned to her left; Marcus Lestrange's nose was buried in his potion books, his lips moving slightly as he recited the ingredients of Polyjuice potion.

Her eyes darted further down the Slytherin table, Millicent's group of seventh year girls were huddled together as they whispered to themselves, with the exception of Vivienne, who was buried in her Ancient Runes book.

She turned to her right, eyeing the Prince of Slytherin, who was currently drinking his cup of coffee while reading the _Daily Prophet_. It was odd seeing him so regal and mature, drinking coffee and reading the early morning paper like an adult. He was definitely not like the other boys. He acted like a mature adult. Gobbling down breakfast like all testosterone-filled, chauvinistic, horny barbarians, (commonly known as the 'male species') was practically beneath him.

"Stop staring," he blurted, sipping from his cup. Startled, Hermione almost lost her grasp on her silver spoon.

"Excuse me?"

"When you stare, you make it too obvious." He had finished his cup of coffee.

Straightening her back, she said firmly, "I did not stare."

"Yes you did, and you do have this odd habit of straightening your back whenever you lie. It's quite reaffirming." She gaped, turning back to her bowl of cereal.

"So when does class start?" she inquired without looking up. Tom flips a page from his newspaper and sips from his coffee.

"Eight."

She grunted in response, boredom striking. She pushes back her bowl towards the center and turns to Tom. "I'm bored."

"Then read."

"I've done that."

Tom briefly stops, giving her an arch of his eyebrow. "No, you haven't."

"I've read all the textbooks we're going to use this year. I've done essays due for the next three months." She complained.

Tom sighed, folding the newspaper and putting it atop the table. "What do you want to do then?"

She contemplated for a second. What really is she wanted to do, now that she's back in Hogwarts? Hogwarts was magical itself, but the thing is, she has seen it—before… or after, whichever people prefer it nowadays. It wasn't like Beauxbaton where everything is new to her. Hogwarts… Hogwarts reminds her of everything; every happiness, every sadness, and every pain. She felt it, like she was reliving everything that had happen or will happen, in her case.

But Hogwarts was home, still is.

"Let's just go to class."

* * *

Hermione kept her head down as she followed Riddle out of the Great Hall towards her first class of the morning, Herbology with Professor Herbert Beery. Stopping in front of the glass door of the school greenhouse, Riddle peered in and beckoned someone inside.

Hermione watched as a boy a few inches taller than her with black tousled hair, pale, white skin and a face that reminded her so very much of Sirius straighten up nervously, swallowing a lump and then hesitantly shuffling towards them.

"Cygnus Black," Tom introduced as the boy gave a curt nod in her direction, which she returned with a smile. With a wave of his hand, Tom dismissed the boy. Hermione watched him stalk back to his place in a hurry. Tom turned to her as he handed her books, which were received by her with a grunt.

"You are to sit next to Black in every class you have with him. You might not notice this, but Hogwarts isn't keen to school unity." Then he proceeded to fix her robes and straighten her green and black striped ribbon.

"What an odd system."

"It's a tradition built centuries ago. It cannot be changed. Just remember that we are superior to them."

"What?" she raised an eye brow at him, "Is that your odd way of saying 'don't talk to other people other than our own'?"

"Minx." He smirked.

"Let's just say, that it's better this way." She glared at him as he stared down at her expressionless. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." She muttered, before Riddle shoved her inside.

Never would Hermione imagine that she could come to hate the house that she was oh-so proudly sorted by. Sitting with them was such a pain, and she often wondered how the Slytherins back in her time handled such open hostility. The glares in her direction and the snide remarks she had been receiving the moment she had set foot inside the castle were unbearable, it was like being convicted of murder without a trial. She grudgingly admitted that she was glad Slytherins of her time had had the decency to criticize her outside of class.

She set herself in between Cygnus and another boy from Slytherin. They both assisted her in placing her bag and books neatly on the side table behind them.

"_Merci beaucoup," _Hermione muttered as Cygnus handed her a pair of dragonhide gloves.

"Riddle's new pet," he whispered under his breath to guy next to him, donning his own pair of gloves.

Hermione gulped, setting her gloves down while straightening her back. "I'm not Riddle's pet," she hissed.

He eyed her as the corner of his lips curled to a taunting smirk, "And so you say you are."

She glared at him more, her fists balled at her sides.

"What makes you any different, then?" she spat. He glared at her, his smirk disappearing from his lips. She felt her hands trembling and quickly hid them behind her.

Then he chuckled lowly. "I don't get what Riddle sees in you." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean? He hates me."

"He tolerates you." He interjected this, both of them returning their focus on their pots as Professor Berry entered the class. "If he did hate you, he'd not think twice to curse you."

"_What curse?_" She replied automatically to which he hushed her, his head bent down as he opened his book. Hermione look up, eyeing the other students, before opening her book.

"So who can tell me what this plant is called and what its importance is?" Professor Berry announced as he raised the plant higher. Hermione's hand automatically went up, earning a smile from the Professor.

"Ms. Granger," he said.

"It's a _Fanged Geranium, _a common garden plant that is known to bite or attack if not taken care of. Its fangs are quite poisonous. One bite can cause an extreme panic attack and seizure, eventually leading to death, hence dubbed one of the dangerous plants according the Ministry, but it's fangs are also used as potion ingredients like healing potions if handled properly," She explained

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Take 5 points for your house. Well then—" Hermione drowned out his voice, returning her attention to Cygnus who was currently reading the page about said plant.

"Is he illegal spells? Why haven't you informed the professors about it?" she whispered, harshly donning her own pair of dragon-hide gloves.

"And what? Do you think that they will believe _Perfect_ Tom Riddle would do such a thing? Never. He has every professor wrap around his little finger," he explained with a low voice, looking up and nodding as Professor Berry instructed them to replant the _Fanged Geranium_ and extract its fangs while doing so.

"Not all of them. I heard Professor Dumbledore is suspicious of h—"

"The old fool is suspicious of all Slytherins in general," he hissed, grabbing his pliers and starting to clip the fangs of the plant. "Whether he suspects or not, it won't change the fact that he does not have any proof. Why else did Tom get away last time?"

Hermione looked at him questioningly, finishing up replanting her plant. "Last time?"

Cygnus paused, surprise embedded in his eyes, turning to her. "I forgot, you're new." A bored expression spread across his face as he returned his attention to his book.

"What is it then?" She demanded, halting in her work. He looked at her, his brows knit in contemplation. " Last year, a girl was found dead in the second floor lavatory." She gaped. Of course, _Myrtle_.

"No one knew how she died and who caused it, but before events escalated to that, there were cases of a few students, _mudbloods_ in particular, being petrified. The old coot was suspicious, but he did not have proof. We Slytherins knew it was Riddle. He did not say it, and we don't know how he did it but we all knew it was him, heir to Salazar Slytherin and all," he said cautiously.

Realization dawned at her, how she could forget, The Basilisk still existed in this time frame. _Shit_. She began recalling the monster that haunted her back in her second year, how she was petrified. She felt her body quiver, turning away and focusing on her plant.

She eyed Cygnus who was now focusing solely on his plant. "Do you hate him?" she asked.

"Hate who?" Cygnus looked up, an arch on the eyebrow.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Riddle," She stated nonchalantly.

He looked away for a second, thinking. "I don't hate him, nor do I particularly like him. More like respect and fear him. Riddle is abnormally dangerous, if you take a little time to observe him."

She nodded to him, effectively insinuating the end of their conversation, her attention back to the project at hand.

She didn't understand what Cygnus' answer meant, but he was right that Riddle is abnormally dangerous in a mysterious way. He was very secretive but he did not have any qualms of shaving the fake mask off inside close quarters. It made her wonder what really his M.O. was that made him so unpredictable.

Classes went by as a blur for Hermione. The curriculum had not changed much and some of the lessons, she had encountered in her earlier years way back in the future. Although she didn't participate much in class, but she did answer difficult questions that were posed, earning her of course brownie points for her house.

It didn't take much for Horace Slughorn to invite her into his little exclusive club and she grudgingly agreed when Cygnus warned her that Riddle was a regular of said event and that it would be wise to agree rather than deny Slughorn and then learn later that Riddle wanted her to come. It was suicide doing things against Riddle's wishes.

Recalling their conversations earlier, she mentally added to her list of worries the existence of the _Basilisk_.

She had often wondered why Riddle had not commanded the humongous snake to depart from Hogwarts, but then again, she was thankful he did not. They would have lost if Riddle had kept his pet by his side during the war.

Currently walking towards Dumbledore's office, she was worried when Cygnus had insisted that it was fine for her to go off on her own while she waited for him to finish class. She tried to warn him about Riddle's warning, but he swatted the warning away like a fly, and smiled at her like it was going to be okay. With still a worried expression, she nodded hesitantly.

Knocking as she came to halt in front Dumbledore's office door, she heard a muffled 'come in' before turning the knob and pushing the wooden door open, letting herself in.

"Afternoon, Professor," she greeted, standing in front of his wooden desk. She eyed the room and inwardly smiled as the trinkets which he had collected lay scattered at different places and corners in his rooms. It was nostalgic to say the least.

"Ah—Miss Granger, I was wondering when you'd stop by. May I offer you something? Lemon drops, perhaps?" He looked up, pushing his square glasses up as he gestured to a plate of desserts set aside on his desk, standing up from his chair.

Shaking her head, "No, thank you."

"No? Well then what brings you here?" he said, grabbing his purple robes and tucking it between his legs as he leaned on his desk.

She straightened her back, bringing her hands behind her, "I was just wondering, if you knew about him."

"About who?" As he push his round spectacles up, again. She looked at him, his eyes wondering back to the parchments on his desk.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

"What is it with Mr. Riddle?"

The hands on her back, tightened. Her face stiffens, "Who he is? Where did he come from? Who was his _mother?_"

"Now, Miss Granger. We at Hogwarts do not accept someone based upon whether the person is evil or good but if the person is able to produce magic with a wand."

"Is that going to make me feel any better? You don't know what it is like! You don't know what I know! And trust me, He is evil."

"He is Slytherin." He retorted.

"What are you implying?" she looked at him in disbelief. "Are you saying, what I think you're saying?"

She backed away from him, almost stumbling as her back touch his wooden door. Nausea creeping, she shook her head slightly.

"Miss Granger…" she lifts her palm to stop him, her other hand feeling the knob. She looked up at him, her eyes bore into him accusingly,

She pushed open the door and ran out. Never looking back.

* * *

Library was supposed to be her haven, but after talking to Dumbledore and having him lecture her about his stupid principles and morals, she was starting to get a headache. As if he had the right to talk about it. He was in fact the cause of all the miseries that she had experience back in the future. Dying in his own accord—stupid old bimbo!

The student cleared way as she stomped towards her destination, her mood escalated with every step she took. Merlin! He had the nerve to look at her suspiciously when he was the one who'd dismissed her when she tried to explain her predicament. Fucking old coot.

She sighed, arriving in front the entrance towards the library. The smell of old parchments and paper backs erupted to her nose and she felt her shoulders relax. God, she missed this library. It was her home inside her home. She remembered how Ron and Harry have to lure her out during the O.W.L.s' exams. It was hilarious, bribing her with pitiful looking chocolates and excuses of Dumbledore's meeting.

She proceed down the long aisle of books, her feet leading her towards the deepest nook and corner of the library where she usually sat during her time. It was private, to say the least. There was only one entrance and the vertical and horizontal aisle enclosed the space.

She sat her bag on top of a lone table, grabbing a random book, nuzzling her nose into its pages and started reading.

She must have been reading for hours as the books that lay on top of the table piled up one after the other. She turns to her sides and watch as the sun draw to a close, soon nightfall will rise.

She put her book down, and made to stretch her upper body. She heard a shuffle of feet and quickly felt her wand inside her skirt pocket.

"Black." She greeted, as a black haired boy peered from the book shelves that hid her little corner.

"Granger." He smirked, "I see, you love books as much as Riddle does."

"Books don't talk back."

"Might as well marry one then." She arched an eye brow at him as he lean against one of the shelves. She made a feel of her wand once again, letting out as sigh as she leans back to her chair.

"What do you want, Cygnus?" she asked.

"It's time for dinner.

"Not hungry."

"Not an option. Now, shall we?"

She stood from her seat, slinging her bag over her shoulder and followed him out.

* * *

**Hi guys! ****I'll bold and just say that I DO REALLY APPRECIATE REVIEWS.**

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	4. Chapter 4

**FREEZE!**

**You might not notice this, but I posted chapter 3 and 4 simultaneously. So if you haven't read chapter 3, please go back! and don't forget to review!  
**

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Scream**

* * *

It has been weeks since the last time she'd talked with Riddle. Although she always saw him during times of meals where he sat with his circle, he never spoke of her or looked at her. She wasn't lonely though. In fact, Cygnus was always beside her, wherever she goes, wherever she was. It didn't help as she had him in almost all her classes save a few.

It was dinner at the Great Halls and nights away before Christmas Break. Everyone was fairly chatting away their get-away plans and the big game, Slytherins versus Gryffindor this coming weekend. She wasn't feeling the Christmas spirit when she knew she'd be spending it here at the castle.

She played with her dinner, while looking down her house's table. She no longer seats with Riddle's Circle. Riddle didn't shooed her away but she chose to leave feeling out-of-place with them. Although Lestrange, Nott, and Avery where mostly courteous towards her, escorting her in between classes and taking the time to do small talk and the thing is, it was fairly unnecessary.

Like all other dinner, Avery and Nott where again engage in an intense battle of wizard's chess, Lestrange was buried in a book, and Malfoy—Abraxas Malfoy, grandfather to the bastard ferret, is busy gobbling away his dinner and there was Black, Alphard Black, Riddle's right hand man and Cygnus' older brother. He was always beside him; He attends almost the same class as him and he was always at Riddle's beck and call.

Black was old money and many of the pureblood are once related to the Black. It was still a big thing to be married to a Black especially those that carry the family name. Maybe that's why Riddle had him wrap around his finger. She often wondered why he followed a man like Riddle. Riddle was a half-blood.

A half-blood with Salazar's blood running in his veins.

She sighed.

She looked across her; Cygnus was busy reading his book while forking his meat. Ever since she met Cygnus, it was like having her very own personal guards. It was suffocating really, he never leaves her alone. Still he was Riddle's eyes. Tom still keeps a tight leash on her.

"Cygnus." She pushed her plate away.

"Hm?"

She eyed him for a second, crossing both her arms over the table, "Why do I interest Riddle?"

"What?" putting his fork down as he stared at her.

She felt herself gulp, "I mean, there's nothing special about me. Yet he finds me interesting."

He look at her for a second, "What makes you say that?"

"He sends you." She pointed out.

"True. I don't know for sure what the Lord thinks and wants with you." He smirked, leaning back on his chair as he closed his book. "Surely it is not of your beauty and certainly not your heritage, we could say your amass knowledge of the magic and spells but hardly men cared about that—"

"Are you insulting me, Black? Cause if you are, I don't take kindly to insult." She snarled at him. "I may not be good in duels, but my knowledge of spells is vast and there's one I am dying to try out." She threatened.

He snickered, "I'm not insulting you in anyway, Granger. I am simply stating facts about pureblood men and traditions."

She shook her head at him, "Some traditions you have. Women are as talented as men are."

"Says in Beauxbatons, but this is not French Academy sweetheart, where women are treated more superior than men. This is Hogwarts where majority of the people attending are old blood. And these old blood are very good when you want to find out anything about something."

"I can't believe this."

"Best believe, Granger. Rumors in pureblood circles are rarely wrong."

She looked at him as he went back to reading his book.

She was currently walking back to the common room, Cygnus was called off by one of the professors and now she was escorted the Prince Twins, Eileen and Loras Prince, both genius potioners at their own right. Still apple didn't fall from the tree, they do have the same pale skin, pointy nosed and greasy black hair, but against Severus Snape, they were much more refined.

They like to keep among themselves although they were part of Cygnus circle and ultimately her own personal guards. She let out a sighed.

"Eileen, Loras, I'd like to be alone for awhile. You don't have to escort me everywhere I go, I can very much go on my own now." She turned to the twins.

The twins looked at each other before they turned to her and gave her a nod before proceeding on their way. She smiled inwardly, feeling the suffocating air leaving her as she briskly walks towards wherever her feet lead her.

* * *

She rounded a corner, did not expect to find herself stumbling on the ground as she bump into someone.

"Watch it!" a boy with messy black-brown hair with round spectacles shook his head, as he was pulled up by a red head one.

Hermione scrambled to get her books when she saw a hand reach out to her, it belong to a blond boy, his hair tied behind his back. She accepted his hands as she stood up, whispering a quick clean spells before she was handed back her books.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." She apologize, eyeing the three people before her who awfully looked really familiar to her.

"No harm done, my lady. It was an honest mistake." The somewhat ditzy blond who looks a lot like Luna pulled Hermione free hand and gave a quick peck over it. She blushed at the gesture as she pulled shakily her hand away.

"Honest mistake!? She's a Slytherin!" the red head made an outburst, her curly red mane was starting to frizz out and her freckles on her cheeks were starting to show. She looks a lot like Molly, a younger version of Molly. She was a bit chubby but the Weasley traits were unmistakable.

"I don't expect much from a Weasley." Hermione retorted back. Tightening her hold on her books.

The red head turned to her. Her eyes was glaring too much as if it was bulging out of it sockets. She was about to lunge right at Hermione, but the spectacle boy caught her arm just in time.

"Stop it, Molina." Boy spectacles said, fixing the angle of his glasses, "I'm sorry too. I wasn't watching either."

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Oh great! The 'Sheltered Princess' of Snakes, here to make friends are we, no— hmmm!" the red head known as Molina started blabbing when the blond guy cast a spell that made a zipper of her lips. Hermione smirked at her.

"I'm Frederick Potter and she's Molina Weasley." He reached out his hand for a shake and Hermione gladly took the gesture, "As you can see, she has a vengeful streak when it comes to Slytherin Girls."

"Hermione arched a brow, as Molina Weasley who was still zip shut huffed while crossing her arms at the side, " Slytherin Girls?"

"Technically, it's only one girl." Blond guy chipped in, "I'm Alexander Lovegood, by the way and you, my dear is the rumored lover of the famous Tom Riddle. That's why you're a little in the danger zone right now."

"I'm not Riddle's girlfriend! Why am I in the hot seat when I rarely talk to him?" she frantically denied and the two boys gave out a smirk.

"He got Cygnus from the noble and proudest house of Black to guard you and no one can boss around a Black, well, except for him." Potter replied.

"I don't want to be his girlfriend and Cygnus and I are just friends." She argued.

"But no one thinks that way." Lovegood argued back. "Riddle is as dreamy as it gets; male alpha and all. Every girl wants him, flaunt their wealth and torn their clothes off and yet he didn't bat an eyelash to them. And here you are, doing exactly the opposite and yet Riddle gave you a Black to your beck and call."

"That's crazy assumption. I'm a nobody."

"I don't get why you don't like Riddle. He's an okay bloke. Fair and awfully polite, never turns down a favor or help. He's smart too and actually handsome. He's a bloody perfect boyfriend." Potter commented. "He's not like all bloody Slytherins. He's actually a good guy and that's saying a lot."

"She's blind as it gets." Molina, whose jinx wore off, glared at her. "I don't get why Riddle likes her. Anyway, let's go. I don't wanna be seen hanging around her."

She never thought she'd find a Weasley who worships Voldemort. She watched the Weasley girl strode off away, never looking back. Hermione turned her attention back to the boys.

"Don't listen to her. She just livid the fact the Riddle likes you. You're pretty, smart, and witty." Potter commented as he smiled at her crookedly.

Hermione blushed, "thanks."

"I best be going then, I watch my back if where you." Alexander followed.

"Well," Hermione started, "I guess I'll see you then."

"It's nice seeing you Hermione." Potter called after her as she awkwardly nod and run off the other direction.

* * *

**Tom Riddle's POV**

It's been weeks since the last time I've spoken with her and her wariness of me grew with each day of my silence past by. It was becoming to comedic for my taste. She terribly getting the habit of looking over shoulder once in a while and sometimes I caught her starring at me during meals at the table.

It was past midnight and it was one of my weekly meetings with my knights, and as much as I wanted to focus on the meeting, my thoughts were consumed with her.

Hermione Granger, her very existence irks me, yet I yearn her beating heart.

I have been observing her for weeks now. She was indeed bright for her age, topping almost all her classes. She was pretty and her elegance isn't to be challenged. She has this certain darkness about her, maybe because of the war that was going out up north. Yet she is still imperfect.

I sighed.

I need to break her more. Beat her until she bled, pluck her wings until she can't fly and freeze that burning flame that is raging inside of her until nothing is left but her cold, shivering love of me and I will chained her to me and lock her away where no one can touch her. She was the very first thing that I have strongly claimed aside from my birthright and the power I was supposed to inherit for being the last of Salazar's bloodline.

I saw her in my dreams and I knew right then she was mine. Mine to conquer, mine to break, and mine to own. I was the only one to mold her to perfection.

Yet one thing held her back, it was one thing I couldn't get my hands on, it was her secret, something she had guarded so protectively, it really made me curious as to what it is. No matter, I like the challenge. Do what purpose did I get the damn book anyway as I held the book I was reading before, _**Legilimency: The Secret of The Mind **_**by Salazar Slytherin**.

In due time.

I was snap from my thoughts when I heard shuffles of shoes coming from the boy's dormitory. I waited for them as they settled around the common room couch.

I took my wand out and made quick work casting various silencing charms. Caution to the wind as Dumbledore has many eyes and ears. I put away my wand and laid my book on top the wooden complementary table.

"My Knights, I wish to welcome a new member to the circle. Cygnus Black." And the youngest of Black stood proudly beside his brother as he bowed at me respectfully. I gestured them to seat, as I went to seat on my own chair.

"So, tell me. What is the progress up the north?" I asked nonchalantly, knowing that they knew I read the Daily Prophet every morning, they must give me what the paper could not. Pureblood gossips are rarely wrong.

"Grindelwald forces will be marching on the British borderline on the next new moon. He is getting weaker as the days go by, my Lord." Nott answered.

"Grindelwald is a coward, Nott. He will not treat waters if he didn't seek something that he needs."

"He's looking for a stone, my Lord."

"A stone?" I looked away from them, my mind searching for a particular stone that holds any significance to the current dark wizard. Of course, the Philosopher's stone. That damn bastard, wanted to live a long life as well.

I look over Lestrange and Avery, both have impeccable resources when it comes to information. "Lestrange, go find out about something called Philosopher's Stone and Avery locate someone that goes by the name Nicholas Flammel, he's an alchemist. Find it before the next forth night. I want to get my hands on it before anyone does."

I looked over Cygnus who I haven't spoken for awhile, and bellowed him and he kneeled infront of me, "my Lord," he said.

"What is of my pet, Cygnus?"

"Nothing of different my Lord, in fact she only ask of you."

An arch an eyebrow at him, "hmm? And what did you talk about?"

"About you being accuse as the murderer of that mudblood." Oh is that so, Cygnus? It took me quite a bit surprise, but not much when such news is still being circulated around the walls of Hogwarts.

"And what did she say, Cygnus?"

I watched him stiffen, as sudden realization dawn at him, he looked bewildered at me, "She—" I twiddle my wand with my fingers watching his reaction, "She didn't look surprise, my lord."

I smirk, ah! Another puzzle piece in place, "interesting." I whispered under my breath.

I beckon Malfoy and whispered to his ears, "Write to your father, and tell him you wanted to know if the ministry has any records concerning our sheltered Princess. If he asks why, tell him you are considering her as a _potential_ marriage partner and wish to know her better."

He waved to dismiss his Knights and was left with the eerie sounds of solitude.

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